“ I’ve told you I’m a liar,” Ralph repeated obstinately.
“ Oh, in little things, I dare say,” she said impatiently. “But not in real ones, and that’s what matters. I dare say I’m more truthful than you are in small ways. But I could never care”—she was surprised to find herself speaking the word, and had to force herself to speak it out—“for any one who was a liar in that way. I love the truth a certain amount—a considerable amount—but not in the way you love it.” Her voice sank, became inaudible, and wavered as if she could scarcely keep herself from tears.
“ Good heavens!” Ralph exclaimed to himself. “She loves me! Why did I never see it before? She’s going to cry; no, but she can’t speak.”
The certainty overwhelmed him so that he scarcely knew what he was doing; the blood rushed t
